Geometry
by rainbowsindecember
Summary: Triangles are all she has known. He watches her break free. BettyReggie.


They were geometry, a triangular puzzle, a three-sided polygon.

Three parts of one whole; years of batting back and forth, back and forth, welding together the joints that formed – the symbiotic but parasitic relationship that was slowly poisoning the weakest link.

Betty Cooper was dying inside.

Outwardly, she was the golden girl, the blonde brainiac who was pretty and popular too. She was a mechanic, a lifeguard, a ballerina, a writer, a cheerleader.

Sometimes, Betty wondered if her varied pursuits would never have happened if it wasn't for the triangle she'd existed in for as long as she could remember.

And then she wondered what it would be like to breathe free.

_Why didn't anyone notice?_

Oh, but she was good at pretending.

Nobody realised her smile never reached her eyes anymore, that she would only pick at her food, unable to stomach the nausea later.

**Nobody.**

So long as she got good grades, stayed out of trouble and responded in conversations, no one would suspect that Betty Cooper was her own worst enemy.

Her mind raged, driving her to episodes where she would be overcome with an almost murderous anger.

Sliding underwater in the porcelain bathtub, filled to the brim with frothy bubbles. She relaxed; tired muscles aching, stretching to fill the limited space afforded to them. A deathly calm seemed to settle over her body as she lay there, a suspended animation looking for a way out; any way out.

A good minute and a half had gone by before her lungs betrayed her with their screams for air. Gasping, breaking the surface, she sobbed, hating her reluctance, her _fear_ to dance with the unknown.

She hated the mad rush of scrambling to the cherry-red telephone when it rang; dejected when it did not yield the caller she was waiting for. The euphoria when his voice floated through the receiver sometimes dulled to a numbing ache when the inevitable excuses came.

She learnt to dread the telephone, wincing when its shrill ring penetrated the household.

In a fit of fury one day, she'd flung the hated contraption halfway across the living room and the stupid thing _would not break_.

She wondered if she would.

* * *

She began to test herself, pushing the extent to which her body could crumble, flouting the limits presented because she _could_. 

Her first pack of cigarettes was a childish attempt at recreating the freedom she saw in the movies. Driving down the freeway with the top down, wind tossing their hair this way and that, leisurely taking puffing on the lit roll of tobacco. Her hands had trembled as she watched the yellow-blue flame spring to orange life at the end of the stick, leaving a wisp of smoke in the night.

She hadn't stopped coughing for minutes when the first drag whooshed into her lungs, charring the inside, staining her black. The invasiveness startled her, and then the light-headedness settled in, but she hated the smell, the way it clung to her clothes and hair.

_Strike one for the cigarettes._

Alcohol was next in line. Shots were her preferred choice of death by drinking. They burned like fire slipping down her throat into her stomach. They made the pain elsewhere irrelevant.

Hangovers she cured by retching into the toilet bowl as the shower pounded against cheery yellow tiles, hating the nausea and the acid bile that accompanied it.

_Strike two for the alcohol._

Drugs. She'd never thought to experiment with them. God knows, she wasn't that stupid. But she needed to try, to see if they were her salvation, her way of sawing off the mental metal chains she pictured coiled around her heart.

Her stash she collected from a smartly dressed young man in the next suburb. Riverdale was a small town; word would get around pretty quick if she was buying.

Oh, she was too damned clever sometimes. Or was everyone else just plain dumb?

But she hated the way her brain became mush and she had to struggle for words, too weary to move an inch.

_Strike three for the drugs._

_You're out._

She wasn't an addict. She just liked the high they gave her. She was in control.

_And I __can't even do it properly_, she thought savagely. _I'm such a goody-goody that I can't even enjoy my high._

She wondered if she was fucked in the head.

* * *

"Honey, are you alright? You haven't been yourself lately, are you ill?" 

"Betty, is there something bothering you? Your grades haven't been the best they could be recently."

"Are you on a diet? You're starting to get real skinny, and I want to know your secret!"

"Betty, I'm sorry but I-I kinda promised to take Ron first and she's told me yes. I hope you understand …?"

And to everyone she smiled, amazed at how easy it was for the lies to slide between gritted teeth.

* * *

Her money, once carefully accumulated and accounted for from years of babysitting, was starting to dwindle. 

She took what she could from Veronica's house – a ruby ring one day, a pearl bracelet the next. Expensive designer dresses were shoved into her backpack, crumpled with test papers and class notes.

Ron never noticed anything went missing.

Until she wanted to wear her tiara for a debutante ball, an event Betty would never get to see. She'd screeched the whole mansion down, threw a tantrum in the living room and finally got her maid fired.

"Can you believe the nerve of that girl? Crying at my feet, pretending to be oh-so-innocent when she'd stolen my precious jewellery and clothes. Why, the tiara alone was worth at least two grand!"

And Betty had murmured her sympathies, indulged Ron's need to bitch at and belittle poor Fifi; all the while furious that she hadn't pushed for more when the pawnbroker offered her $400.

Then she had felt sick at herself. It was all fine and dandy when it was only her drowning in the swirling vortex she'd created. Not when someone else got dragged down with her.

She decided to lay low for a while after the incident, genuinely remorseful. For some time, Betty cleaned up her act. She'd thrown away the stale cigarettes, the empty bottles, the pot she'd hidden underneath a loose floorboard.

For a while, everything seemed back to normal.

But one day, after too many smiles had stretched her facial muscles, after one too many favors, after yet another day Archie would leave her heart tattered and torn, Betty bolted.

She ran until she could no longer feel her feet, and her chest heaved from exhaustion. Dizzy, she saw the edges of her vision go gray and promptly mowed someone down.

"Watch it, Blondie!" An irate voice snapped at her as she blinked, tangled in a heap of arms and legs on a sea of green.

Reggie Mantle cursed as he noticed the grass stains on his new slacks.

"You're getting my dry-cleaning bill. God, I look a mess," he groaned as he stood up, brushing himself off.

He held a hand out to her and she took it like a lifeline, a desperate woman old before her time.

Reggie had watched Betty leave the football field, wondering what the hell was so different about her.

Then it struck him. It was her eyes. It was as though they had lived a lifetime, seen too much, felt too much.

* * *

He started looking out for her when he could. He noticed her bonier frame, saw how her silence was interpreted as contemplativeness, realised how spaced-out she was all the time. 

He knew the difference, he_ knew._

He snorted. Why did he care anyhow? It was probably Archie Andrews that afflicted her, muddled her brains to mush.

Grabbing her arm as she passed him, he tugged her into a nearby empty classroom and sat her down.

"So Blondie, what got stuck up your ass?"

Betty's eyes blazed as she regarded the arrogant jerk in front of her.

"Hopefully not you."

Reggie smirked. "You might beg one day. Really though, what's with the attitude lately?"

"What would you know about it?" she retorted sharply. "You're not worth wasting an answer on, Mantle."

He let out a short laugh. "Oh, and that meathead is? You know, the one who's always dumping you for your best friend and doesn't have the balls to say he's not interested?"

"Like you're any better, you rat. Hitting on Midge and Veronica as well; I forgot, Cheryl too. Desperate aren't you, chasing legs that tease you but won't stay open," she'd hissed in anger.

Reggie clenched his fists and longed to hit something.

Instead, he remained impassive and gave her the once over with a scornful eye.

"Not desperate enough to look for you, doll," he drawled, once he had looked his fill. "You're pathetic, really."

She'd slapped him then, taking satisfaction that her palm tingled and his cheek was red. She'd flounced out of the classroom in a flurry of skirts, leaving a trail of her scent weaving in her wake.

* * *

Reggie left her well alone after that, but she felt his eyes watching her. 

She hated him; oh, how she _hated_ him.

She hated his sneer, his swagger, his expensive gadgets, his sleek convertible.

She was starting to tire of hate – the word, the feeling, the incessant flicker of anger.

Reggie Mantle was cold as ice and hard as diamonds. There was a bitterness in him that she could not fathom but it drew her attention to his cutting remarks, his cruel insults, his malicious pranks.

She wondered if she would bleed if she got close enough.

"Are you following me or something, Blondie?" he'd growled at her when she'd wandered under the bleachers one day to find him hurriedly stubbing out a cigarette.

"You smoke." It was a statement, pure and simple in her astonishment.

He glared at her, wondering if she would squeal. The last thing he wanted was to be kicked off the football team or even worse, suspended.

She watched him warily, taking in the broad shoulders and defined torso (a bonus from athletics), her eyes darting to the fallen butt, breathing in the last vestiges of nicotine and tar.

She realised how badly she hungered for the feeling of heat rushing into her, permeating her consciousness, taking over until they were one and the same. She started shaking as she wondered how she could deny her bodily cravings, the physical need.

Then she wondered if it was the cigarette she desired or Reggie.

The thought knocked her for six, and to reaffirm that it was the former she wanted, she quickly asked, "Mind if I steal a stick, Mantle?"

If Reggie was surprised, he didn't show it. He regarded her with cool eyes as he tossed her the pack.

"Help yourself, Cooper."

She watched her fingers in fascination as they moved of their own accord, catching it easily, sliding a slim white rod out, and bringing it to her lips.

Wordlessly, Reggie flicked a lighter and held it out to her. Nodding her thanks, Betty hovered over the tiny flame and coaxed it into the end of the cigarette, seeing the tiny leaves and twigs catch fire.

Puffing a few times to ensure the end was lit, she finally took a long drag and exhaled in satisfaction, pursing her lips to blow a steady stream of smoke into the air.

"Bad day?"

He was so close; she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"No. Just cold," she answered, sucking hard.

"It's been pretty chilly lately. I'd say we'll see snow early this year."

"Who cares?" Betty replied, watching the snake trails slithering from her mouth.

"It'll be nice. Lots of people think –"

Harshly, she cut in, "I don't. All that pretty white stuff is just pretend. All it does is cover up what's ugly underneath, and when it melts it becomes sludge, and then it becomes even more repulsive than before."

Reggie lifted an amused eyebrow. "Really, now."

_Damn him_, Betty thought sourly. _Damn his stupid smirk and his stupid hair and his stupid head._

_And damn you for noticing how appealing his stupid body looks._

Dropping her unfinished cigarette, she crushed it to the ground.

"Thanks for that. I'll be seeing you," she lifted her hand in a half-wave as she turned to leave.

"Wait up, Blondie. You're skipping this last period too, I reckon."

Betty paused. "Why?"

Reggie grinned, flashing even, white teeth at her.

"So you've got nothing to do for the next hour or so, like me. Whaddya say, wanna go for a drive?"

Betty knew she should say no.

But she found herself sliding into the seat of the cerulean blue sports car with its soft top up because of the cold.

* * *

Reggie had driven his car fast and hard, and she laughed in mingled exhilaration and fear as his tires shrieked through the almost empty streets. They'd wound up on a secluded hill overlooking Riverdale and she'd caught her breath, amazed at the picturesque scene. 

She'd never felt so free in such a long time.

Reggie was unexpectedly sheepish as he saw her delight in something so simple. "It's just somewhere I come to unwind. I don't bring anyone else here, but I thought you might need it as much as I do."

Betty levelled a questioning gaze at him.

His face was sober as he met her stare.

"It's pointless hanging like a lost puppy at his heels. You're just setting yourself up for disappointment, Blondie; it's juvenile of you to think anything you do will change the way he feels. You're self-destructing and it's for a foolish cause."

"Andrews really isn't worth your trouble," he shrugged.

Betty's head was screaming again as she felt the self-loathing that made her want to lash out at herself, at anyone who came close enough.

She moved quickly, leaning across the seat, straddling his hips … her mouth searching for his, hoping to shut him up.

His obvious shock had made her giggle inside, but then he'd begun kissing her back, his full lips sliding against hers, his teeth nibbling her lower lip. She gasped as his tongue started exploring her mouth, shivered when he groaned her name into her ear.

Archie's kisses were light and sweet; delicate little confectionaries she would savour with cream.

Reggie's kisses were bold and daring, possessive even. They reminded her of a storm that had blown its way in, a disturbing force to be reckoned with.

Betty couldn't get enough of it.

His green-brown eyes darkened to liquid caramel as she struggled with the shirt he was wearing, pulling at buttons, hardly caring if they snapped off or not. He hesitated before pushing her pastel cotton dress higher, higher, over her head.

And then, Betty was clad in only her underwear. Reggie tugged at the cheap plastic clip that held her hair back and sucked in a breath as her gold hair tumbled about her tanned shoulders.

How could he have missed her beauty?

He could hardly think straight as she began to work at his belt, trailing a row of soft kisses down south.

Frustrated at the lack of space, the abundance of clothing, _everything_, Reggie flipped back the seat, struggled with the clasp of Betty's bra, slid off her panties. Apparently, she felt the same way, and was entranced when she encountered his manhood; hard yet soft, rigid yet pliable, smooth as silk.

Reggie's breath stopped when her warm mouth closed over him, swearing softly under his breath as her blonde head bobbed.

As she came up for air, he reached out a thumb to swipe at some moisture near her lips. Guiding him to her slick entrance, she squeezed her eyes shut as he arched into her; one long, slow pump. Her grip on his shoulders tightened; crescent indentations imprinted on his skin. He watched her face closely, noting her tightness, her discomfort and was filled with a sort of wild joy that here at least, she was untouched.

_Archie was a fool._

Gripping her hair roughly, he bit on her neck, eliciting a surprised moan from her. He saw her grimace as he pushed past her maidenhead and his heart almost stopped at the pain he saw reflected on her face. For a moment, she hovered; and then slowly, agonisingly, she slid all the way down.

Reggie swallowed, his throat dry.

And they began to move together, rocking in a timeless rhythm that held them in wonderment at the ecstasy, the sheer bliss at tension relieved, as everything else was blotted from their minds except the here and now.

His cock nudged against a sensitive spot within her and she cried out, riding him faster even as he suckled her breasts, milky-white where the sun had not caressed. She was so close, so close to something and she didn't know what it was. His knuckles gently brushed against a throbbing nub; again, she cried out as it sent tingles of pleasure through her entire being.

His breath ragged, his eyes lowered to half-mast, he continued touching her, taking her. She screamed his name as she climaxed, clenching around his cock until he groaned and then he came inside her, spurting hot liquid, branding her with kisses, whispering her name over and over again.

It was fast and frantic, furious and feverish.

It was so horribly cliché.

But in the back of Reggie Mantle's car, Betty Cooper lost her virginity that day.

He neglected to tell her likewise.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what this was all about," he stretched, the swell of his muscles rippling.

Betty stared into intense hazel eyes and felt a glimmer of something akin to shame.

"I don't know," she ground out, her mind a whirl of feelings and emotions.

She went home, cringing at the tenderness between her legs as she washed all traces of Reggie and sex from her.

* * *

The next week, she threw herself back into life with vigour, catching up on her piling assignments, going on dates with a couple of cute guys, window shopping at Riverdale Mall with Veronica. 

Deciding that her recent insane behavior was a thing of the past, she realised how insignificant it all seemed now.

Dear God. Had she really been so immature that she had done all those stupid things and actually taken pride in them?

She really was pathetic.

Reggie, she avoided for the most part, scuttling through corridors with her head bent low so he wouldn't notice her.

_Not that he would_, she thought.

Not when pretty, petite Midge was around. Or sexy, sophisticated Veronica. Or even busty, buxom Cheryl.

She didn't understand why the thought of him with someone else made her dissolve into silent, helpless tears alone in the bathroom stall after fourth period English.

She tried to feel glad that he didn't even lift a hand in acknowledgement, tried not to care when she passed him hitting on some random girl yet again, tried to tear her gaze away from his profile as she spotted the tell-tale spirals of gray behind the bleachers.

She was mildly relieved when he didn't call out to her as she walked past, but then a hand grasped her arm and spun her around.

"Hello, Blondie," Reggie rasped, his eyes narrowing.

"Reg." She was glad her voice did not quiver.

They observed each other for a moment, guarded and uncertain at the sudden contact.

Then he sighed. "Oh, fuck it."

And his mouth descended on hers; fierce, hungry kisses that startled them both of its intensity, its passion, its insatiable _need_. His hands were all over the place and she was tugging on his dark hair. Lips nibbled their way up to her ear and teeth skimmed the lobe.

He took her again, under the bleachers, with only his coat to cushion the cold, hard earth.

Afterwards, she had pulled up her tweed shorts, redid her ponytail and picked up her fallen books.

Reggie had watched her as he leisurely took his time zipping his denims.

"You went out with Carrot-Top."

His tone was flat, almost accusing.

Betty glowered at him, her mouth set in a straight, hard line.

"I'll do as I damn well please, Mantle."

"Like this? Like us? Does Loverboy know you come looking for me when he can't give you what I can?"

It was easy to walk away when she was livid, her hands and jaw clenched tight.

* * *

But it never was the same with Archie any longer. 

She dated him because it was a habit she did not know how to break, a cycle that left her confused and unsure. But with every passing day, she found herself tiring of his awkwardness, his clumsiness, his fumbling hands that repelled her. She hated his repeated excuses, his belief that he would be forgiven for his latest shenanigan, his sheer stupidity.

After a particularly nasty non-date where she had thrown a perfunctory Coke over Archie and not felt the hurt and grief that he was on a rendezvous with Veronica instead of her, Betty sought Reggie out.

Reggie's room was strongly masculine; different shades of emerald that reminded her of his eyes, and the way they seemed to change color depending on his mood. A full-length mirror stood in a corner, framed in dark wood. She was startled when she realized that pictures of him were next to none, contrary to rumors at school.

Her attention was drawn to his canopy bed, with heavy drapes almost concealing the engraved crest above the metal headboard.

"It's my family's coat of arms," he indicated when he saw her interest; coming behind her, breathing in her hair, his hands running up the sides of her waist.

Betty tried to quell her arousal, hating the way her body responded – no,_ demanded_ – his touch.

She wondered whether it was possible that she was addicted.

She was silent as they tumbled onto his bed, her eyes watching his thrusts in quiet desperation, her hips lifting to match his pace. The only sound she made was a long sigh as her orgasm washed over her in a tidal wave.

He slept with an arm thrown about her stomach, his cheek resting on her bare shoulder.

She almost hated to leave as she ran her fingers through his black hair, wondering at its softness, the boyish look on his face untroubled and serene.

Reggie Mantle awoke to a cold, dark, empty room.

He hated himself for needing her, for wishing she had stayed; hated that he wanted her so much that his tummy ached and his chest contracted. After all, there was no one else but her – she seemed to understand without words, of the bitter loneliness that had drawn them both together, melded in moments of passion where he could convince himself he was not alone.

He looked forward to seeing her cheer during a big game, her shrill piercing whistle, the way she snapped her fingers when she had an idea, her pink tongue peeking through crimson lips when she was concentrating hard.

Every chance he got, he covertly studied her in the classes they shared, wondering why he could not get enough of her, why the hell she was intruding on his thoughts and dreams.

The revelation came one winter morning when she smiled; that beautiful, angelic smile at him when he steadied her as she slipped on a frosty patch near the school steps.

Reggie Mantle had felt his heart skip, his breath catch and his stomach jolt as he realized he was falling in love with Betty Cooper.

* * *

He found refuge in her arms when they drove to the hill – _their_ hill, he corrected; and held each other for hours watching the sun cast its setting gold rays over the powdery snow that had blanketed Riverdale. 

She kissed him first; tentatively, tenderly.

"I broke it off with Archie today," she began nervously, wishing her stomach wasn't in knots.

Reggie paused, brushing his lips against her forehead. "I know. I heard."

She sucked in a breath before letting it whoosh out slowly. "I'm fine," she continued in amazement, revelling in the truth – she was _free_.

Reggie's mouth quirked; his lips lifted in a mischievous smile.

"Good," he whispered as he captured her lips again.

They made love for the first time; slow, loving touches that made Betty feel tiny pinpricks behind her sapphire eyes. She felt as though she was soaring high; untouchable, unreachable in her quest for release.

"I love you, you know," he whispered as his hips bucked one last time, spilling his essence into her.

Betty struggled for breath, gasping, "I know. I think I love you too."

He smiled sleepily at her, tracing lazy circles over the curve of her hip.

"Where do we go from here?" she breathed as their pulse slowed and their breathing returned to normal.

His arms tightened about her, drawing her close to his chest.

"Anywhere. Everywhere," he replied, stroking her blonde hair, gathering his courage to voice what he'd been meaning to ask for days.

"Be my girl, Bets."

Betty snuggled under the warm comfort of his arm and smiled to herself.

"Yes, Reg. Oh, yes. You don't need to ask twice."

On Christmas Eve that year, Betty's triangle had come full circle.

As they began the winding journey back to town, she idly wondered why the falling snow outside looked almost magical when she was holding Reggie's hand.


End file.
